“Oh, that’s right. I almost forgot that you fill in for Aiden on occasion. He’s actually the one who told me you lived here. Do you mind me asking how you got into sports?”
The waiter is back with our coffee and breakfast. Peyton doesn’t hesitate and picks up her fork. I find myself watching her, mesmerized for some odd reason. Here she is, with this ridiculously famous family, and she just wants friends. Suddenly, I don’t feel so lonely.
“So good,” she mumbles and covers her mouth. “Sorry, I love the muffins here. They’re baked fresh and have that melt in your mouth feel to them. This café is by far my favorite. Well, except the one my mother-in-law owns.”
“You’re close with her?”
Peyton laughs. “My family story is odd, to say the least. For the longest time, growing up, everyone assumed Noah—that’s my husband—and I were related. Our moms are best friends. Our dads are as well. Noah and I were always together. To our families, it wasn’t a big surprise that we started dating or got married. The people in our hometown, on the other hand, were a little taken aback by the idea. But my mother-in-law, Josie, I grew up calling her my aunt, and then I married her son—do you get what I’m saying?”
“I think I need a family tree or something.”
She laughs again. “You and me both. But, back to your original question before this delicious muffin entered our lives. My dad was really into football. It was our thing. When he died, I just hung onto it. With Noah playing his entire life, I was there, watching and learning. When I was five, my uncle Liam—that’s Noah’s dad—started teaching me how to play the game.”
“Wait, I thought your dad was a drummer?”
“Wow, you really did look me up. He is. My biological dad died when I was five. It’s a very long, drawn-out saga.”
“You should write a book,” I tell her.
She smiles and sighs. “Someday, although my life is anything but interesting.”
I find this hard to believe.
“Anyway,” she continues and finishes telling me her story. I’m completely sucked in and have so many questions, but I don’t want to ask her something intrusive. By the time she’s finished talking about her life, her husband, and Portland, two hours have passed, and panic sets in that I’ll be late for work.
“Shit,” I say when I look at my phone. “I don’t want to be that person—the one who eats and runs—but I go on air at five and still need to do my hair and make-up.”
“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. I talked your ear off. I hate it when I do that.”
“No, I loved listening to your stories, and besides, I asked, so please don’t feel bad.”
“Listen,” she says. “Noah and I are having a couple of people over tonight. I know you do the eleven o’clock news as well, but maybe you can stop by. We live only a few blocks from here so you wouldn’t have to go far. I’d love to introduce you to people and get to know you. I promise I won’t talk too much.” Peyton giggles and then shakes her head. “Sorry.”
“You’re fine, and honestly, I really enjoyed today. Count me in for later. I can come down between airings.”
Peyton stands. “Perfect. I’ll text you the address. It’s super casual, nothing fancy.”
“I’ll be there.” We hug, and then I’m on my way. I can’t help but think I’ve just made a new friend. One that I’ll be able to share my secrets with, meet for lunch and spa appointments, and go shopping with. Exactly what you’d expect from a sorority sister.
I stand outside the building, which I believe is where Peyton lives. I look at my phone, the address on the door, and then the street sign, making sure I’m at the right place. I’m not confident I am, especially since the city is crazy with its streets—Southwest, Southeast Avenues, and Boulevards.
“The only way to find out is to go inside.” I give myself a pep talk before opening the sizable ornate steel door. My footsteps echo against the marble floor as I make my way toward the reception desk. “Hi, by any chance, are there apartments here?”
“The onsite realtor has gone home for the day.” The man behind the desk tells me. He slides a business card toward me. I take it out of respect.
“I’m actually looking for Peyton Westbury. I believe this is her address.”
He turns stone-faced and says, “We protect our resident's privacy and do not divulge whether they live here or not.”
“Of course, and I’m not asking you to. I’m new to town, a bit confused about where I am, and want to make sure I’m in the right location. Is this the address?” I turn my phone to him so he can see the text exchange with Peyton. He nods, and I turn my phone back around. “Phew,” I say, hoping to lighten the tension. “Peyton gave me a code for the elevator.”